


Prelude in E Minor

by venthii



Series: Detroit: Become Human [3]
Category: DBH - Fandom, Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Drabble, Illness, Oneshot, Sickfic, Unfinished, aka grumpy fuck gets sick, yeah it’s Hank’s turn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 15:54:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19112920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venthii/pseuds/venthii
Summary: Hank fights off a bitch of a flu while Connor mother hens and talks a lot. Written by request.Pretty short, and unfinished - though it comes to a stopping point. More of a drabble.Also I never bothered to figure out the mechanics of the drug in the game so excuse any errors there.





	Prelude in E Minor

Sitting down in his somewhat cushy office chair, Hank takes a moment to sigh before booting his computer up. It’s an old model, yeah, but so is Hank. Maybe he doesn’t feel like he needs all that shiny shit, the bells and whistles that make you forget who you really are in the process. Connor’s sitting across from him, at his own desk, probably looking at the series of homicide cases they’ve just been assigned. He might also just be looking at porn, or gambling. There’s really no way of telling’I - his LED is lit up the same yellow either way. Clearing his throat, Hank pulls his mind from where it’s starting to drift, and logs in to his profile. His hands are shaking a little, mostly because he hasn’t had a drink yet this week. Connor’s helping him get better at that, at being present and dealing with his emotions. 

A sneeze startles its way out of Hank, and he grimaces as the spray hits the screen. Snuffling, he wipes the monitor with his sleeve, and tries not to acknowledge the three muted ‘bless you’s that sound from around the room. Connor looks up for a moment, his eyebrows coming to that soft peak which Hank already knows means alarms are going off in his head. 

“Lieutenant. That sneeze was atypical to your usual pattern. Are you feeling quite okay?” Connor speaks, sounding concerned. 

“It’s fine, Connor. Back to the case.” Hank mutters, blushing. He doesn’t like attention called to his little biological fuck ups. 

Connor’s gaze lingers for a few moments, burning a hole in Hank’s peripheral vision. Then he shakes his head, returning to his work. Hank shoves a finger up against his twitching nose, snuffling quietly. Connor’s right to worry, but this isn’t the time, and it’s definitely not the place. He’d be mortified if he was dragged out of the station over a cold. 

Slowly, Hank begins to type, doing his best to string together several different clues linking the most recent homicide, a file from the CDC, and the chief’s latest report on the effects of the red ice epidemic. It’s a fascinating report, actually. Red ice is the shit Hank would never touch, no matter how desperate. And there are kids all over Detroit sharing needles now, because they’ve finally figured out a way to get it in their veins rather than through some shitty dope pipe. Hank is so lost in thought that he doesn’t even notice when Connor gets up from his seat. He only notices when there is something cold suddenly pressing against the back of his neck. He inhales quickly, batting whatever it is away. Connor breaches his line of sight, and Hank can’t help but feel his heart jump into his throat. 

“Lieutenant Hank. You’re growing dehydrated. It is my recommendation that you drink this.” Connor says, extending the water playfully. 

Hank can deal with that bit of playfulness, and grabs the bottle, cracking it open and chugging half. In that time, Connor cups his cheek, and his eyebrows furrow. Hank pulls away, almost choking. 

“What, Connor? Jesus fuck.”

“Hank, you’re running a temperature two degrees above normal. You can’t be comfortable. I recommend returning home and taking a nap.” Connor states, removing his hand from Hank’s skin, but not the look of worry from his face. 

“What, nap time already for grandpa?” Hank blushes a deeper crimson while Gavin jeers, then grimaces and flips him off. 

Connor looks like he’s about to do something stupid to ensure Hank will comply, so Hank just stands, turns off the barely-touched computer and grabs his water. Shuffling to chief’s office, he enters, folding his arms across his chest. 

“Hey. Connor here recommends I head home for the day. What d’you have to say about that?”

Chief looks up for a second, then addresses Connor instead, who has snuck up behind Hank. 

“RK800, is Lieutenant Anderson fit to work?”

“While he could conceivably work, sir, I do believe that he would benefit from a day at home resting. Should he continue his day here, it is very unlikely that much would get accomplished, and there is a twelve point eight percent increase in the outcome that he would become severely ill later this week and miss no less that four days of work. Hank going home now is what I believe you would call “nipping it in the bud”, chief.” Connor spiels, straightening the sleeves of his jacket. 

Chief pinches the bridge of his nose, then relents. 

“Fine. Go home, Lieutenant. I want to see you here bright and early.”

“Sure. Whatever.” Hank mutters, shooting his android a frustrated look. He hadn’t anticipated that. Of course he hadn’t. That was Connor’s talent.

**Author's Note:**

> huh yeah anyway I can’t see myself writing any more for this short shit story, but if you leave a comment that’s particularly inspiring, I may write more for this series. 
> 
> peace and love   
> ya boy


End file.
